


Syrup

by walkingsaladshooter



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (this is a happy sweet universe where Ben didn’t get so horribly traumatized bless him), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista Ben Solo, College Student Rey (Star Wars), Crushes, F/M, Fluff, Good Boy Ben Solo, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkingsaladshooter/pseuds/walkingsaladshooter
Summary: The first time she shows up, it’s eight o’clock in the morning and she looks asleep on her feet. Her brown hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, her sweatshirt is sitting askew on her shoulders, and she blinks heavily up at the menu behind Ben’s head. He watches her purse her lips and immediately feels a soft fondness.“Small latte. Six pumps of vanilla.”
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 42
Kudos: 309
Collections: For one is both and both are one in love: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	Syrup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trasharama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trasharama/gifts).



> For trasharama, who asked for "a cute, fluffy, sfw one-shot of Ben growing increasingly fond of this ridiculous, half-asleep human." I hope you enjoy the sweetness! ;D
> 
> (Why is Ben apparently the only person who works at this coffee shop? Why is he always there at 8am AND 9pm? Who knows, it’s a silly fluff fic, don’t think too hard about it.)

Despite his mother’s protests otherwise, Ben genuinely enjoys being a barista. Sure, he hadn’t dreamed of it as a child. Does any kid dream of pulling espresso shots when they’re five? He’d wanted to be a pilot like his dad, then a professional soccer player, then an ornithologist, then back to a pilot. But by then he was squinting to read street signs, and his vision ended up too shitty to fly.

And he still likes soccer and birds, but not, like, career-level likes them. So he’d started as a barista near the end of high school. Since he didn’t know what he wanted to study in college, he’d just… kept making coffee. And eight years on, he’s still at it, and he loves it.

The actual coffee-making is satisfying on a deep level, but his favorite part is definitely the people-watching. Ben’s not a people-person—he isn’t the sparkling, effusive sort of barista, more the competent, collected kind—but when he can stay behind the bar and observe, it’s actually kind of fun. Especially since, mid-semester, he transferred to a location smack-dab in the middle of the local college campus.  
  
He can’t decide if he prefers the regulars or the weird one-offs. The one-offs can make good stories. Like the tall, pinched-faced ginger who’d come in and ordered a small black coffee in a voice so bitter it was obvious he physically resented being in the store. Or the extremely short, frizzly-white-haired professor who spoke clear English but in a grammatical order clearly from his native tongue and cryptically told Ben, with a gurgling laugh, “Find your purpose here, you will.”  
  
Regulars are fun because he learns their orders, and he takes a weird pride and self-satisfaction in expanding his mental databases of name plus face plus standard order.  
  
Tallie. Blond, quick, quippy. Triple medium hazelnut latte, half the pumps of syrup.  
  
Poe. Dark-haired, bright eyes, charmer. Large quad iced caramel macchiato.  
  
Finch. Long face, hooded eyes, studious. Medium black coffee and a blueberry muffin.  
  
Rose. Short, friendly smile, polite. Small coffee blendacchino with cinnamon on top of the whipped cream.  
  
And then, as finals approach, he gets a new, particular favorite.  
  
The first time she shows up, it’s eight o’clock in the morning and she looks asleep on her feet. Her brown hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, her sweatshirt is sitting askew on her shoulders, and she blinks heavily up at the menu behind Ben’s head. He watches her purse her lips and immediately feels a soft fondness.  
  
“Extra shots cost extra, right?” she asks. Her voice is low and lovely.  
  
“Yeah,” Ben says.  
  
“Do extra pumps of syrup?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
She nods decisively. “Small latte. Six pumps of vanilla.”  
  
Ben clutches his sharpie hard to avoid blanching. That’s an absolutely disgusting amount of sugar for a small. For anything, really. But he just nods and scribbles the order onto the cup. “And your name?”  
  
“Ray.”  
  
“R-A-Y or R-A-E?”  
  
She blinks, startled now rather than sleepy. Her soft mouth parts. “Um. R-E-Y, actually.”  
  
Ben bites his lip and writes it. It looks pretty. She looks at him like nobody ever asks her for the correct spelling.  
  
“Coming right up,” he says.  
  
He gets the syrup pumped, the milk steaming, the shots pulling, then slides back to the register and rings her out, moving back to the bar in time to pour the milk while the shots are still fresh. Rey is watching him over the counter with wide eyes. “How did you do that so fast?” she asks.  
  
“Career barista,” he says, not quite smiling as he slips a cardboard sleeve onto the cup and places it on the hand-off plane for her. “You get it in your muscle memory after a while.”  
  
She smiles and holy shit, it’s brilliant. Dazzling. “Maybe I should’ve been a barista instead,” she says. “Save me on student loans.”  
  
“You a freshman?” he asks, a bit thinly. Her smile is giving him butterflies and he’d really like to quash that immediately if it’s too creepy.  
  
And she laughs and his mind blanks out at how cute it is. “No. Senior.” She sips the coffee and her eyes flutter shut. “So good. Thanks—” She peers at his name tag. “Ben. See you.”  
  
And then she’s gone out the door, leaving Ben winded and grinning like an idiot.  
  
The second time she comes in, it’s the following night, nearly their nine o’clock closing time. She’s got a backpack on her shoulders, and today her hair is knotted in a floofy bun on top of her head. But she’s no more awake-looking than last time. She yawns enormously as she leans on the counter, resting her chin in her hand, eyelids drooping. “Small latte,” she mumbles. “Six pumps of vanilla.”  
  
“Gonna be up late?” Ben asks as he writes her name on the cup with a little extra flourish and slides over to start the drink.  
  
“Yeah. Finals are soon. Gotta study.”  
  
“Then let’s get you fueled up.”  
  
She becomes a daily regular. Tuesdays and Thursdays she must have an early class because she always shuffles in at eight, dressed in what barely could be called more than pajamas and blearily ordering her latte. Every other night, and sometimes Tuesday and Thursdays as well, she comes in just before close, a different kind of tired, determination and something a bit manic burning in her eyes as she prepares for a night of studying.  
  
On her fourth visit, Ben pauses before starting her drink. “Do you like vanilla best?” he asks. “Or would you be interested in trying other flavors?”  
  
Rey’s eyebrows lift. “What’s your selection?” He rattles off the various syrups they carry, and her eyes progressively widen as he goes. “Marshmallow?” She sounds so hopeful.  
  
Ben flashes her a smile. “Marshmallow.”  
  
He makes the most perfect foam of his life, pours her latte, and watches expectantly when she picks it up in both hands and sips it.  
  
Her eyes flutter shut and her lips part in a sigh, and Ben thinks he might just drop.  
  
After that, he makes it his mission to give her all the different flavors she could possibly want. Coconut. Peppermint. Toffee nut. Brown sugar cinnamon. Maple. She wants to try the lavender, but since she insists on six pumps and that’s way too much of the lavender in the size of drink she gets, he cuts it with some vanilla, and she nearly dances out of the store.  
  
He learns about her, too, in bits and pieces. She’s an anthropology major. She loves rain. She plays video game music when she studies because she heard it helps concentration, but it also keeps her awake. She’s got a wicked sense of humor, when it can cut through the cloud of her tiredness.  
  
“I don’t usually like people,” she tells him one night when she’s deciding which flavor to get. “Don’t trust them much. But I like you.”  
  
Ben tries not to let his face betray how instantly that puts him in the damn stratosphere. “It’s only because I hop you up on caffeine and sugar.”  
  
She grins, wrinkling her nose. “I wish it was more caffeine, honestly. I like sweets, but I only get as many pumps as I do so the sugar will keep me awake.”  
  
“Get another shot.”  
  
Her grin falters. “Too expensive,” she says. Her tone is still bright but he sees some of the light leave her eyes.  
  
Ah. It’s only fifty cents more for an extra shot of espresso. Which means she’s really watching her budget.  
  
“On the house,” he says, whisking off to the bar.  
  
“No—Ben, I swear to god, don’t.” Rey rushes after him, glaring from the other side of the counter. “I hate charity.”  
  
He raises his eyebrows, already pulling together ingredients. “It’s not charity. I like you. You deserve a better drink than a six-pump latte.” He’s focusing on his work now, but out of the corner of his eye, she thinks she might—just might—blush.  
  
Ben steams the milk, pulls the shots, pumps the syrup. When it’s done, he hands it off to her.  
  
Rey peers down at the cup like it holds answers to her finals. “What is it?”  
  
“Try it.”  
  
She squints at him but lifts the cup to take a sip.  
  
Ben’s palms are sweating as he waits for her verdict.  
  
“Ben.” She looks up at him with stars in her eyes. “This is amazing.”  
  
And he grins at her, his heart doing a happy dance in his chest. “Small latte. Two shots of espresso. Two pumps of mocha, one pump of brown sugar cinnamon, and a pinch of cinnamon sugar steamed into the milk.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Still sweet enough, with only three pumps?”  
  
Licking her lips, something fierce flashes in Rey’s eyes. She leans clear across the counter until her nose is inches from Ben’s, where he’s frozen, heart pounding as she comes so close. “Very, very sweet,” she says, smiling up at him.  
  
Ben makes a very odd sound that might be a squeak.  
  
Rey’s smile turns into a grin as she steps back, picking up her drink. “My last final is tomorrow,” she says. “I’m gonna go to bed right after and sleep for like, fourteen hours, probably. But after that—” She pauses to take another long sip, eyelids fluttering. “Mm. After that, we should get lunch.”  
  
“Yeah?” Ben can hear how out of breath he sounds. Like he just ran a mile. Or like she’s shocked him so thoroughly it knocked the air right out of him. One of those two things.  
  
“Yeah. If you’re game?”  
  
He nods. “Very game.” And his sense returns to him enough to smirk and say, “I’ll even buy you coffee.”  
  
Rey’s smile is the sweetest damn thing in the entire coffee shop when she beams up at him and says, “Then it’s a date.”  
  
It takes him a moment, through the haze of disbelief and sheer joy, to realize something has bumped against his hand. He looks down. A napkin. With a phone number scrawled on it.  
  
When he looks up again, Rey is slipping out the door, tossing a last brilliant smile back at him over her shoulder.  
  
Ben picks up the napkin and presses it to his chest.

He smiles the most genuine smile of his entire life.


End file.
